The fact that she was still trembling was his fault, of course.
‘Mind if I turn the radio down?’ he asked.
‘Be my guest. Turn it off.’
The music stopped and the sudden silence seemed to fill the shop. But now that Milla had both feet on the ground, she demanded answers. ‘What’s happened? Why aren’t you in America?’
‘No drama.’ Ed looked annoyingly calm as he stood there, hands resting lightly on his hips as he let his gaze linger on her beautiful walls. ‘You’re doing a good job,’ he admitted grudgingly.
She couldn’t help saying, ‘I’m happy enough with the way it’s going.’ But it was annoying to be pleased by his comment when she should have been interrogating him.
Now that she was beginning to recover from her shock it was time to ask questions. ‘Get to the point, Ed. You still haven’t told me why you’ve come back. What’s the problem?’
There had to be a problem. Why else would he come back all this way?
Ed’s throat worked and he shifted his gaze to the street, as if he’d been suddenly gripped by an almost boyish nervousness. ‘I—er—stayed to look after a spot of business in Sydney, and I happened to run across a few things.’
Huh? ‘What kind of few things?’
Frowning, he squared his shoulders, as if he was deliberately throwing off his initial shyness and returning to his default mode as Mr Serious. ‘I found some of the equipment you need.’
At first, Milla couldn’t imagine what he meant. ‘Equipment for the bakery?’
Ed shrugged. ‘You haven’t already ordered them, have you?’
Stunned into silence, she shook her head. ‘I wanted to get the place cleaned up first. I was planning to start researching on the Internet this weekend.’
His brow cleared and a slow smile lightened his eyes. ‘Well, I found one or two items that might be useful. So I’ll bring them in now, OK?’
‘I—I guess,’ she said faintly. ‘Can I help you?’
‘No, no. I’m fine.’
There was a ute parked in the street outside, she realised now, and the tray back held several large cardboard cartons. Heavy cartons, judging by the bulging muscles in Ed’s arms as he carried them into the shop.
‘Will I take them through to the back?’ he asked.
‘Thanks.’ Milla decided that he must have been working out. Or he’d started buying T-shirts a size too small. Either way, the display of masculine strength was almost as distracting as her curiosity about the boxes he carried.
Her eyes popped when she read the first label. ‘An orbital mixer?’
‘I hope it’s the right size.’
‘Wow, Ed.’ She found a knife and began to cut the packaging tape, whipping the cardboard flaps open. ‘It’s perfect. So new and shiny.’ She’d been planning to investigate second-hand equipment. It was mind-boggling to think that Ed had remembered her passing comment.
She was stunned and grateful...but just a tad worried. Why had he done this? Could it be a new strategy for regaining Cavanaugh control?
But it was hard to suppress her excitement when the next box revealed a top-of-the-range set of bakery scales.
‘They’re beautiful.’ Milla touched a fingertip to the rim of the shiny steel bowl. ‘They’re brilliant. Thanks so much.’
The scales were followed by more boxes holding all manner of lovely things—dough dividers, pie cutters, a tiered rack of bun pans.
Milla was quite dazed. ‘I can’t quite believe this.’
‘I happened to come across a warehouse with all this stuff and it seemed crazy to walk past.’
‘Which warehouse?’
Ed looked away and mumbled the name of a Sydney suburb, and, despite Milla’s excitement and gratitude, she was sure she smelled a rat.
‘So you just happened to be walking down a Sydney street and, blow me down, if there wasn’t a bakery warehouse right in front of you? I suppose the mixer and scales were on display in the window?’
‘Look,’ Ed said, jutting his jaw defensively. ‘I have no plans to interfere with your new venture, Milla. I know you don’t want our money. You made that very clear.’
‘So you’ll let me pay you for these things?’
A dark stain coloured his neck. ‘That’s not necessary.’
Milla sighed. ‘So what’s this about, then? Come on, Ed, spill. Are you going to tell me you’re concerned about the demise of Bellaroo Creek?’ Sarcasm crept into her voice. She couldn’t help it. ‘You’re doing this for the good of the town?’
He met her acerbic challenge without blinking. ‘My grandparents used to live in a small country town like this.’
It was the last answer Milla had expected and she felt caught out. Winded.
She simply couldn’t imagine the wealthy, lavish-living Cavanaughs coming from humble roots in a small rural town. The picture wouldn’t gel.
Then again, why would Ed make up a story like that?
Warily, she offered him a puzzled smile. ‘Well...if that’s really what’s driving you... On behalf of the Bellaroo Creek Residents’ Association, thank you very much, Mr Cavanaugh.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Slowly, Ed returned her smile and their gazes linked and held, and ridiculous tingles zipped and zapped through Milla.
Then Ed nodded through the doorway to the half-painted shop. ‘But I’ve interrupted your work. The paint on your roller will dry out.’
‘Yes. I’d better get back to it.’
‘I don’t suppose you have a second roller?’
Milla’s jaw dropped so hard it hurt. How many surprises was this man planning to spring on her? She did have a second roller, but surely Ed didn’t really plan to help?
‘I’m not going to turn straight around and drive back to Sydney,’ he said. ‘I don’t fancy another five hours on the road today, so I have an afternoon to fill in. I may as well make myself useful.’
Once again, Milla hesitated, torn between her desire to remain stubbornly independent and her gratitude for his apparently good-hearted generosity. And somewhere above and beyond these hovered an extra problem, the problem she’d always had with Ed Cavanaugh. The strong, almost frightening attraction she felt in his presence, and the scary certainty that a relationship with him would take her well out of her depth.
Five years ago, this fear had sent her running into the supposedly safer arms of his lighter-hearted, fun-loving brother.
And what a mistake that had been.
Now, Milla didn’t want to feel attracted to any man, certainly not to Ed. She was making a fresh start as far away as possible from her past mistakes.
Just the same, she knew she shouldn’t be in such a stew over one afternoon in Ed’s company. This evening he would stay at the pub and tomorrow morning he would be gone again, finally and for ever. Where was the harm in that?
Feeling calmer now that she had this sorted, she reached into the box of gear she’d bought from the hardware store in Parkes. ‘It’s kind of you to offer to help.’ She broke open the plastic packaging and handed him a brand-new fluffy roller and tray. ‘Ever used either of these before?’
‘Of course.’
She couldn’t hold back a cynical smile. ‘Honestly?’
‘Well...not in the last twenty years.’
* * *
It truly was like stepping back in time.
Ed hadn’t spent an afternoon like this since he was fifteen when he’d helped his grandfather to paint their barn. Back then it had been fall in Michigan and Ed could still remember the scent of apples in his grandparents’ orchard and the gentle lilt in his grandfather’s voice as he delivered his homespun philosophies while they worked.
Today, Ed couldn’t believe how good it felt to be away from boardrooms and meetings and
phone calls and the constant crises and pressure of his Cavanaugh Enterprises. It was such an agreeable change to be working at a task that demanded a totally different kind of concentration.
In no time he was crouching low, taking desperate pains to paint as close as possible to the skirting in a neat straight line. It was unexpectedly rewarding to take as much care with the smoothness of his paintwork as he normally took over calculating a new investment strategy.
When Milla stopped for lunch, they perched on stools at the stainless-steel table at the back of the shop. Milla made thick, tasty cheese and salad sandwiches, which they washed down with mugs of hot tea, and while they ate she explained that she’d moved into the rooms above the shop, and that this area would double as her kitchen.
They chatted about the best positions for the new equipment, and Milla explained the steps involved in producing dozens of bread loaves. She certainly seemed to know the process well, Ed was relieved to note, and although he itched to fire a host of questions to test her business knowledge he held his tongue.
Just as they were finishing their meal, a fat ginger cat stalked regally into the room, his ginger tail waving above him like a flag.
Milla’s face was alight as she squatted to scratch the cat’s neck. ‘Blue, you beautiful boy, how are you this afternoon? Have you had a good morning?’
‘Why would you call an orange cat Blue?’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘It’s an Aussie thing. Goes way back. I guess it shows how contrary we are. We often call redheads Blue or Bluey.’
Ed smiled. ‘Were you called Blue at school?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘So where does this Blue live?’
‘Here. He’s mine.’ Her laugh was light and silky. ‘At least, he seems to have made this place his home. He just wandered in one day and stayed.’
‘So you’ve already taken in a stray?’
Her chin lifted. ‘Yes, Ed, I have. You got a problem with that?’
He gave a non-committal shrug and Milla returned her attention to the cat, her face soft and loving as she spoke of sweet nothings with him. Watching her more intently than was wise, Ed decided that this was, almost certainly, how she would have looked when she talked and played with her baby.
The baby she’d lost.
Thinking about it now, he felt his throat constrict and he had to look away. She’d hardly mentioned the miscarriage, but it was patently clear that this plan of hers to return to her roots was her way of dealing with her loss.
He was still absorbed by these thoughts when Milla asked, ‘What about you, Ed? Are you a cat or a dog person?’
Neither, he almost said, but out of nowhere he remembered carefree summers in Michigan when he and Harry had roamed and fished along the Kalamazoo River. Their grandparents’ golden Labradors had been their constant companions and the dogs’ loping, loyal faithfulness had added an undeniable dimension to the boys’ adventure.
‘I guess I’d go for a dog if I had a choice.’
‘I like dogs, too, but once the bakery’s up and running, I won’t have time to exercise one.’
Ed thought about the long hours of hard work ahead of her and grimaced. Had she really thought this through? She couldn’t simply dabble at baking, then give it up if she got tired of it. Did she really know what she was letting herself in for?
He might have asked, but he hadn’t come here to start another argument. By the same token, he didn’t want to think too hard about why he had come back to Bellaroo Creek.
When Milla had challenged him, he’d thrown up his grandparents’ hometown as a convenient excuse, but he hadn’t really been thinking about them when he tracked down the bakery warehouse in Sydney, had he?
His focus had been his concern for Milla taking on this huge task on her own. That, plus his guilty awareness that the Cavanaugh family had let her down badly.
His family owed her.
He said, ‘At least Blue will help to keep the mice population down.’
Milla flashed a grateful smile. ‘Exactly. And I’ve decided that every bakery needs a cat.’
Her smile was as fond as a lover’s as her gaze followed the tom when he stalked off once more, heading to the back door where a food bowl waited on a sunny step.
The damn cat had no idea how lucky he was.
* * *
They got back to painting and the afternoon seemed to fly. It was almost dark by the time they finished. Milla turned on the light switch to admire their handiwork.
‘I love it,’ she said, gazing with deep satisfaction at the smooth cream surfaces. She could already imagine these beautiful walls lined with racks of freshly baked loaves of smooth golden bread. She would have wicker baskets, too, with an assortment of bread rolls, and she would place pottery urns in the shop’s corner, filled with sheafs of dried wheat. It was going to be gorgeous.
She sent Ed a triumphant grin. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘I think we’ve done a great job. It was fun.’
He looked as if he meant it, which worried Milla. She was used to seeing Ed looking buttoned-down and serious in an expensive Italian business suit, busy with his BlackBerry. Today he looked too different, so relaxed, in his dark grey T-shirt and jeans. And way too attractive.
And now she noticed a scattering of fine, cream-toned spots sprinkled through his raven-dark hair. And there were larger splotches on his cheek and shirt. ‘Yikes, you’ve got paint all over you.’
In answer, his gaze rested on her chest and a slow smile warmed his handsome face. ‘I see we’re two of a kind. Your sweater looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.’
It couldn’t be that bad.
But it was pretty bad, Milla had to admit, when she looked down at her paint-splattered front. ‘I guess I’m still getting the hang of this painting gig.’
She shrugged. ‘And you need to get cleaned up and hop over to the pub. You’re welcome to use the sink. There’s a towel and soap and at least the paint is water based.’
She might have offered to wash out his T-shirt, but the thought of Ed standing around shirtless brought on a vision of him lying naked on her bed and she was assaulted by a fresh flurry of zaps and tingles.
‘I suppose I’ll have to hunt for Sherry again,’ Ed said as he went to the sink and began to scrub paint spots from his arms. Milla took one look at his muscular forearms and hurried out the back to clean the rollers at an outdoor tap.
When she came back inside, Ed was still at the sink, now with his shirt off, washing his hair. Just as she’d feared, the sight of his powerful shoulders and strong, muscular back was enough to give a healthy woman problems with her breathing.
Ed reached for a towel and dried his face and hair. Then he looked up and grinned at her.
Help. Had he caught her ogling him?
‘I’ll book a table for dinner,’ he said. ‘You’ll join me, won’t you?’
Milla was quite sure that a dinner date couldn’t be wise. This was supposed to be her post-Cavanaugh life.
Ed’s smile was several versions of engaging, however. ‘I promise I won’t fall asleep on you this time.’
‘If we’re to have dinner together, it should be my shout,’ Milla said stiffly. ‘I’d like to thank you for the equipment and for your help today and...everything.’
He shook his head. ‘I need to make up for last time.’
It would be silly to fight over this, but it would help if she understood exactly why Ed was here and why he was being so helpful and friendly. She’d assumed he was trying to keep some kind of control over her, but why would he need to do that now that both Harry and his baby were...gone?
She supposed Ed might be genuinely concerned about her, which was kind, even noble. But she would find his kindness so much easier to accept if she could forget about th
at long-ago kiss...
Then again, it was plain crazy and unhelpful to think about that kiss now. Ed had probably forgotten it years ago. At this moment, he was calmly waiting for her answer.
‘Thank you,’ she said as lightly as she could manage. ‘I’d love to join you for dinner. Let’s hope the duck and mushrooms are still on the menu.’
* * *
As soon as Ed was gone, Milla hurried upstairs to the three rooms above the shop that were now her living quarters. In the days when her parents had owned the bakery, they’d only used these rooms for storage and they’d lived in a large and comfortable house two streets away.
Now, however, Milla quite liked the idea of living above her shop. Her needs were simple—a bedroom, a tiny sitting room and bathroom were sufficient. The only furniture she’d bought during her one trip to Parkes were a bed and an armchair, but in time she would paint these rooms in rich, warm tones, and she would shop for a sofa, a bookcase and a rug and other small items to make the space homely.
She had plans for the skinny strip of weedy yard at the back of the building too. She wanted to create a small courtyard, a chicken coop, a veggie patch...
As she pulled her sweater over her head her muscles complained. Her arms were tired from all the painting. A hot shower would help and—
Heavy footsteps sounded on the tiled floor in the shop below. Milla froze. Surely that couldn’t be Ed back already?
Hauling her sweater on again, she went to the top of the stairs. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Just me,’ came Ed’s voice.
It was annoying to feel suddenly anxious. ‘What’s wrong?’ she called as she hurried down. ‘Can’t you find Sherry?’
‘I had no problem finding her,’ Ed said. ‘But the pub’s fully booked.’
‘You’re joking.’ Milla gripped the post at the bottom of the stairs as she stared at him in disbelief. ‘But that’s ridiculous. I stayed at the pub for over a week and I was the only guest in the place for most of the time.’
Miracle in Bellaroo Creek (Bellaroo Creek!) Page 6